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“You look beautiful in those clothes,” Jaryk exclaimed upon entering the dining hall to find Kismet dressed like a Kaldoran. He winced. “That came out wrong. That’s not what I meant!”

Delicate eyebrows arched. “I don’t look beautiful?”

The hairs on his nape prickled with embarrassment. He was botching this. “You always look beautiful regardless of what you wear, but Kaldoran fashion suits you.” He hadn’t been this gauche since he was a youth.

His male eye couldn’t tell if she wore pants or a dress, but the blue-green garment flowed around her like water and clung in all the right places, arousing emotions he shouldn’t be having.

She probably had no idea she wore his favorite color.

He’d assumed theirs would be a dispassionate union, an amicable marriage of convenience, but how could he avoid noting his wife’s attractiveness? He was a man. As long as I don’t touch.

Her lips curved into a teasing smile. “I know what you meant. I was having a little fun. Yes, the clothing arrived today. Thank you. You were way too generous.”

“It was worth it.” Looking at her now, oh, yes. It was worth it. He extended his hand. “Shall we be seated?”

She took her place on his left. Lewen served them, and Jaryk dismissed him. “If we desire seconds or need more spirits, we are capable of serving ourselves.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Lewen said, but Jaryk could tell the dismissal didn’t sit well with him.

“He takes his job very seriously,” Kismet commented. “All the servants do. They had my clothes put away before I even saw them. As I said, you were way too generous.”

“As I said, it was worth it. Kaldoran attire suits you. Especially that outfit.”

“Thank you. Your mother picked it out.”

“My mother? The queen?”

“Is there another?” She giggled. “She popped in for a visit today.”

“My mother came to see you?” He felt like a child’s talking toy, repeating everything said to it.

“What did she say?” He took a big gulp of spirits, hoping his mother hadn’t offended Kismet.

Not that that would be her style, but he’d blindsided both parents with a situation neither of them viewed as favorable.

“That she’s glad we got married.”

He swallowed hard and almost choked. “My mother said that?”

“Yep. Surprised the heck out of me.”

He was flabbergasted. “Did she mention my father?”

“He’s not on board yet.”

Not surprising. He doubted he would ever win his father’s approval. “What else did she say?”

She shrugged. “Not much. The rest was girl talk. Your mother is very nice, very down-to-earth—excuse the pun. Karma showed up, and we went through my clothes. Your mother is quite the fashion maven. She has a good eye for detail. She recommended this outfit for dinner tonight. We had a fun afternoon.”

Fun? He took another drink.

His mother could be fun —but few outside the immediate family got to see her softer, relaxed side.

With most people, she remained cordial, but cool and measured—even with Alia, whom he’d thought she’d favored.

She’d acted overly polite with Charday, whom she disliked.

This casual friendliness meant she must like his wife very much indeed—assuming the amity was genuine.

However, he’d never known his mother to fake fondness.

“I’m glad you had a nice visit,” he said, still astonished. The wheels in his brain spun, trying to make sense of it.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Tedious.” He’d suffered a low-grade tension headache all day.

The king had dispatched him to meet with a coterie of royal advisors.

The mundanity of the trivia had nearly driven him insane.

Every single “issue” brought to his attention could have been handled by the advisor—or the advisor’s underling.

As the dinner hour approached, and the advisors continued to recite a litany of insignificant problems, he’d snapped at them to handle it and walked out.

He refused to miss dinner again—the time with Kismet provided the sole bright spot in days and nights of tedium, the museum dedication being the lone exception.

All week long, he’d been subjected to the worst sort of duties—the king’s passive-aggressive punishment for his disobedience.

Which made today’s visit by his mother rather interesting. He sipped his spirits.

Coincidence? Or parental divide and conquer mission? His father coming down hard on him, while his mother befriended his wife.

Any parent should be thrilled to have her as a daughter-in-law.

So, it wasn’t unlikely his mother would like her, except for the political considerations—the necessity to unite two previously feuding families and maintain the bloodline.

If future heirs were half human, Earth might one day claim right of rule over Kaldor.

What if his parents were trying to wear them down, break them up? I don’t want Kismet to be hurt. She didn’t deserve that. He enjoyed her company—limited though it had been. He went to take a drink and discovered an empty goblet. He picked up the carafe. “More spirits?” he asked.

“No, thank you. My glass is still full. One is my limit.”

He nodded. “Wise. Our spirits are potent.” He refilled his glass and took drink. “I have another public appearance you might be interesting in attending.”

“Yes!”

He chuckled. “You don’t know what it is yet.”

“I’d still like to go. I like spending time with you, and it will give me a break from the etiquette classes.”

“How are those going? Are you feeling more comfortable?”

“A little. Everything is so nuanced.”

“It will get easier. Our culture and traditions will become second nature.”

“If you say so,” she said doubtfully.

He had faith in her. “I’ve been asked to speak at the dedication of a new hospital wing the day after tomorrow.

It won’t be as fun as MAH, but afterward we can slip away, and I can show you some of Kaldor.

” The hospital wing dedication, like the MAH opening, had been scheduled long before his marriage, or his father would have squeezed in another punishment exercise.

Since the museum visit, the news of their marriage had begun to spread, but, after the ball, everyone would know. The more people saw them together, the greater the public speculation would be when their marriage dissolved.

However, not taking her out in public would invite rumors he was hiding her away because he was ashamed of her. Besides, everything a royal did fueled speculation. People would talk. Period. He walked a thin line, trying to avoid saying too much or too little, doing too much or doing not enough.

Tomorrow, he had to speak with Charday before she heard about the marriage.

Kaldor Celebrity News had been there. He couldn’t delay any longer.

He looked forward to telling Charday he’d gotten married about as much as he enjoyed his father’s assignments.

Oddly, he had difficulty picturing Charday’s face, but he remembered her temper. He took a big gulp of spirits.

He hadn’t seen her in a couple of months.

At her instigation, he’d agreed to a “separation” to “rethink” their relationship.

She’d given him an ultimatum—marry her or else.

He would have married her if he could. But his hands had been tied.

Despite having been in the outer circle of royal life, she’d refused to accept the crown prince required the king’s permission to marry.

Cosmic Mates galactic marriages being a loophole.

Hekkel! Charday and I could have joined Cosmic Mates, picked each other, and we could have married. He jerked, almost knocking over his goblet of spirits.

“Is something wrong?” Kismet asked, concern written on her face.

“No…no.” He took a big drink.

“You’ve hardly touched your meal.”

“Not hungry, I guess.” He picked at his food but didn’t eat.

More startling, unsettling than missing an opportunity to marry Charday was the lack of regret for not having thought of it. Shouldn’t he be hating himself? Instead, he felt…a little relieved ? He glanced at the woman he did marry. No regrets there at all.

He tried to envision eating a quiet, casual dinner with Charday, and he didn’t see it.

She would attend a banquet or a ball every night if she could.

She would have been bored to death at the Museum of Alien Horticulture.

She wouldn’t have cared about the hospital dedication either.

Nor would she have been understanding when his duties took him away for long stretches, leaving her to her own devices.

Yet, Kismet, a stranger to the planet and their ways, had coped.

I don’t want to marry Charday! Maybe he never really did.

But Kismet? He would do it all over again.

“I am glad I m-married you.” His words slurred a bit.

Her smile seemed to light up the room. His vision blurred from the spirits, but for the first time, he saw her with blinders off, unfettered from dysfunctional attachments. Somehow, he had stumbled into the right decision.

“I’m glad I married you, too,” she said.

He regarded her with unsteady steadiness. How glad? Glad enough to go the distance? Maybe make it permanent? Did he want that?

Yes.

Or was this sudden attachment a result of the fermented spirits?

No. I am falling into…fondness with her.

Her eyebrows arched, and he realized he might be staring. He dropped his gaze to the table. Her plate was empty, her glass full—the opposite of his. “Did you get enough to eat?” he asked.

“More than enough.”

He picked up his empty goblet. I should have eaten more, drunk less. “I overdid it a little,” he admitted and set the goblet down.

“A little,” she agreed.

“I don’t normally overindulge. I ap-apologize.” He hiccupped.

“Apology accepted. Maybe you should retire to your room while you can still walk.”